He had
seen him pass along the crowded street, amidst the execration of the
throng; and marked his quivering lip, and trembling limbs; the ashy hue
upon his face, his clammy brow, the wild distraction of his eye--the
fear of death that swallowed up all other thoughts, and gnawed without
cessation at his heart and brain. He had marked the wandering look,
seeking for hope, and finding, turn where it would, despair. He had seen
the remorseful, pitiful, desolate creature, riding, with his coffin
by his side, to the gibbet. He knew that, to the last, he had been an
unyielding, obdurate man; that in the savage terror of his condition he
had hardened, rather than relented, to his wife and child; and that the
last words which had passed his white lips were curses on them as his
enemies.
Mr Haredale had determined to be there, and see it done. Nothing but
the evidence of his own senses could satisfy that gloomy thirst for
retribution which had been gathering upon him for so many years. The
locksmith knew this, and when the chimes had ceased to vibrate, hurried
away to meet him.
'For these two men,' he said, as he went, 'I can do no more. Heaven have
mercy on them!--Alas! I say I can do no more for them, but whom can I
help? Mary Rudge will have a home, and a firm friend when she most wants
one; but Barnaby--poor Barnaby--willing Barnaby--what aid can I render
him? There are many, many men of sense, God forgive me,' cried the
honest locksmith, stopping in a narrow count to pass his hand across his
eyes, 'I could better afford to lose than Barnaby.
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